


You Won't Remember

by jadestrick



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Short, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadestrick/pseuds/jadestrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Title: </b> You Won't Remember<br/><b>Author: </b> Meg / LJ: <a href="http://jadestrick.livejournal.com/">jadestrick</a> / Fic LJ: <a href="http://jadesfic.livejournal.com/">jadesfic</a><br/><b>Disclaimer: </b> I <i>wish</i> I owned them.  But life is unfair.<br/><b>Word Count:</b> 764<br/><b>Rating: </b> PG-13<br/><b>Warnings: </b> Suffering and torture<br/><b>Author's Notes: </b> You know how sometimes you just have that one fic that pops out of you and you look at it and you just LOVE it?  Yup.  This is one for me.  I wrote this ages ago and only just recently found it again on my hard drive.  I love it when that happens. :) Also, this can be viewed as either slashy or non-slashy.</p>
    </blockquote>





	You Won't Remember

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** You Won't Remember  
>  **Author:** Meg / LJ: [jadestrick](http://jadestrick.livejournal.com/) / Fic LJ: [jadesfic](http://jadesfic.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Disclaimer:** I _wish_ I owned them. But life is unfair.  
>  **Word Count:** 764  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Suffering and torture  
>  **Author's Notes:** You know how sometimes you just have that one fic that pops out of you and you look at it and you just LOVE it? Yup. This is one for me. I wrote this ages ago and only just recently found it again on my hard drive. I love it when that happens. :) Also, this can be viewed as either slashy or non-slashy.

The only sound he can hear is water dripping. He forces his eyes open, a pain quickly invading his head as his peaceful darkness is disturbed by the small stream of light from the lone window high in the wall and out of his reach. He searches for the source of the water, eyes flickering until he sees a pipe dangling in the ceiling, the liquid escaping from the thick, round metal.

He's moving before his brain registers his injuries. Burning, white-hot throbbing shoots down his leg and he stops, laying his head on the stone floor, breathing through the pain. He looks up, gauging how far away the puddle of water is, and how much pain he can put himself through to reach it.

His dry throat influences him when he tries to swallow. He lifts his head and glares at the puddle, determined. He reaches out with his right hand, stops and looks at his left arm. He realizes that it's broken, twisted unnaturally and somehow frozen against his body. Huffing, he turns to look again at the puddle, propelling himself forward with only his right hand and pressing against the pain in his legs.

He distracts the screaming receptors in his mind with thoughts of circumstance and vengeance. Only small snippets appear from the last four days. He pauses as he counts. Yes, four. Or five? He shakes his head and pushes off once again. He remembers the crack of bone when they broke his leg. The sting now radiating down his leg is a new kind of pain. Unbidden, his grandmother's voice enters his mind, remembering a time when he fell and scraped his shin.

 _"Don't worry, Danny," she whispered as she blew on the wound to take away the sting of the alcohol. "In two days, you won't remember how much it hurts."_

 _"Why not, Grammy?"_

 _"Because God gave us a special gift. He lets us forget physical pain after time. It helps us cope."_

 _She smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling._

He closes his eyes, tears burning and softening the crust in the ducts. He has always silently wondered if she thought of the words she'd said to him in her final weeks. Full now of bitterness and rage, he knew he was the only one who had fought for her: researching cancer, calling doctors, yelling at his family to get off their asses and do _something_. Sitting beside her hospital bed and holding her hand, listening to the monitors beeping and willing her to heal with so many fibers of his being, he wanted to get up and run.

He clenches his hand, feeling the old, weathered, beautifully soft skin against his own. His fingers twitch in grief and aching, suddenly realizing that it's not his Grammy's hand he's holding, but a handful of warm water.

He looks up, relief flooding him as he scoops the water and brings the few drops to his lips. His thirsty taste buds finally kick in during the second scoop.

Saltwater.

He spits.

The tears flow freely, his own saltiness mixing with the puddle before he numbly turns himself over onto his back and covers his eyes with his good hand. Loud sobs wrench his body in uncontrollable breaths. He barely hears the sound of gunfire and shouting from somewhere else. The light from the small window seeps through his fingers, blurry with his tears and he painfully braces himself for more torture when he hears the steel door to his prison bang open.

He keeps his face covered, feeling like that small boy with the bleeding shin.

Feet shuffle toward him and he cries out when someone touches his leg. Confusion sweeps when gentle hands reach under his shoulders and legs, lifting him up. He cries out again, and lays his cheek against his savior's shoulder. He brain spouts lies at him--he's _sure_ they're lies--that it's only his captors playing tricks on him, soothing him into submission before they break another bone. He wants with every fiber of his being to fight, to get away and run. His body hurts too much.

"It's okay, Danny," a voice whispers. He feels he's being moved and suddenly sunlight floods his senses and he clenches his eyes shut.

"It's okay," the voice continues. "We're here. _I'm_ here. In two days, you won't remember how much it hurts."

Danny squeezes a piece of his savior's shirt in his own hand, feeling the soft, worn cotton and hanging on for dear life. He turns his head deeper into Steve's shoulders and cries.


End file.
